


A Wincest Christmas Tale

by 2vampiresarebetterthan1



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Sex, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Brotherly Love, Christmas Fluff, Episode Fix-it, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Oral Sex, POV Sam Winchester, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Season 3 episode 8, Sibling Incest, Wincest - Freeform, Young Winchesters (Supernatural), fill the gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27927097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2vampiresarebetterthan1/pseuds/2vampiresarebetterthan1
Summary: Sexy and sweet coda to A Very Supernatural Christmas.Did you see that longing look Sam gives Dean right before watching the game? Do you want to know what happens next? Let me tell you a Wincest Christmas tale.Sam finally finds the courage to make a move on Dean. He sets the romantic Christmas mood in their motel room and gives it his best shot. Will Dean make Sam's wish come true at last?
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 29





	A Wincest Christmas Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Angst, fluff, and silly plotless porn with feelings. The flashbacks of the episode were so heartbreaking, their emotions so raw, I needed a little ‘fluff the gap’ before watching the next episode. I hope that you like it. Christmas is coming soon. If somebody wants to rewrite it from Dean's POV, it would be a wonderful Christmas gift!  
> I am still new here, and not an English native speaker, any constructive comment will be deeply appreciated. No spoilers please, I am only at season 11 now!

A Wincest Christmas Tale  
By 2vampiresarebetterthan1

***  
Broken Bow, Nebraska, 1991.  
It was a weird trinket Bobby had given him for their father and Sam was doing his best to wrap it for Dad’s Christmas with what they had, equals, nothing, so an old newspaper had to do the trick. Sam was hungry and bored in the crappy motel room, and their father was still nowhere to be seen. Dean was doing all he could to pretend everything was fine, but Sam could feel him grow restless and his usual wide smile just wasn’t there. At some point Dean got pissed so Sam stopped asking questions. He had so many, he couldn’t help it! He would find a way to know anyway. And then boom! his shitty life became even shittier. He discovered the whole truth about the supernatural beings in their Dad’s journal. Freight train in his face. He had figured out long before that their father would always give them shit, but Dean had been lying to him too. That realization had hurt so much. Then Dean went stealing presents for Sam, pretending that their father had come back for Christmas. Like so many times and occasions before, of course their father would let them down. But Dean was here, with Sam. Smiling at him, comforting him. Sam’s heart had burst. Dean was the only one worthy of getting a present. Sam did not hesitate and offered him the talisman. He watched him wear it, and bravely fought the urge to hug him like a girl.  
***

Where does Sam ends and Dean starts, Sam doesn’t know. Only Dean, always. It was Dean in the beginning, and it will be Dean in the end. He was and has always been Sam’s alpha and omega. His eyes Sunlight, and his laugh, Oxygen. Occasionally, Sam had found a beautiful and smart lady and fooled himself in believing there was another life possible. A few of them even reciprocated his feelings. He could not believe his luck when Jessica had kissed him. She was sassy, and fun, and considerate, a gorgeous blond with freckles. He met a few others after her, for one night or a few days of love. They are gone, a violent death. He should know better. Dean will always be the only constant reassuring light in the darkness of Sam’s pathetic life. 

Dean and Sam had almost died a horrible and bloody death. Again. Must be Thursday, Sam had thought. And the clock was ticking. This waiting was the worst, excruciating. It was slowly killing Sam, it felt like the death sentence were on him rather than on Dean. It has to happen tonight, or Sam will catch fire.  
He refused to put his feelings and desires for Dean into words. There were only dirty and confusing words and what he longed for felt pure and right. He couldn’t figure out why he had waited so long to take action. Well. Fear, primarily. He was such a damn coward! The icy cold shudder in his lower back at the idea of Dean rejecting him. Calling him a fucking freak. Of losing this precious and fragile equilibria they had found recently. Losing moments like this evening. Dean’s relaxed face and easy smile, his stupid sense of humor and cocky attitude. Dean chilling with Sam at the motel rather than going out ‘socializing’. Missing the rare instants when Dean showed Sam his true feelings or thoughts, past the usual mask of cool nonchalance. Missing the ever so often fractions of seconds when a look, a lingering touch, a vibe from Dean fueled Sam’s mad delusion that maybe Dean, too, craved more than normal brotherly affection. 

To this day Sam had never managed to fully take the plunge. A few clumsy attempts, chances instantly blown, impulsive gestures that had Dean jump away from him like a startled wild horse. If missed opportunities were books, Sam’s volumes collection would outshine the Ancient Library of Alexandria at its peak. Every time afterwards it would take days for Dean to slowly get used to Sam again, relax and come close once again. Most of the times, Sam had to subsequently endure an upsurge in Dean’s flirting with every woman they encountered, and contrary to Sam, Dean turned every opportunity he got into a success. Sam considered himself a gentleman, but the average girl’s acts and moves on Dean made him see red and his own personal Mister Hyde bubble to the surface. God at least these were only one-night stands, and not the Let me reveal everything about the Winchesters and we’ll secretly elope together kind of Cassie case. Fuck that one had stung hard. Then it was back to You and Me Against the World for a while, and Sam could relax and hope in the Impala, Dean slowly opening up and reaching toward him again. What an exhausting tango to dance, especially with ballroom dancing being in a galaxy far far away from their hunting skills and damned world. 

They were so close when they were kids. Some of Sam’s best memories were from the two of them having fun as much as they possibly could living that fucking redneck lifestyle. Dean always coming up with crazy ideas to turn little nothings in toys or making hunting trips interesting for Sam, fireworks and treasure hunts. Then as the years passed the awkward feeling grew sharper in Sam’s chest. Their teenage years were the worst for him. They still shared the same bed often, lived in close quarters, and well, contacts happened after his puberty. All guys compare size, right? Then play who can hold it the longest and who can make the other cum the fastest during mutual jerk-off sessions contests… what do you mean, no? Ok, so probably a little more than the average siblings would experiment, but Sam had always put the blame on their fucked-up way of life. And it was not like Sam could have gone to his friends for a piece of advice. He had none. By the time Sam had realized that he still wanted to play, but Dean would not, he had done some research, the best he could, by himself and feeling like shit. The explanations he had found were not pleasant. Sam decided that he preferred to see a Pygmalion effect at work there. The more pride and love he would see in his brother’s eyes, the harder Sam wanted to try and push himself. This tangled relationship made him a better man, and not a dirty perv, thank you very much. Sam had bottled his feelings and all the sexual weirdness early and did his best to ignore that whole business every day.  
But then Dean was not helping. When Sam acted distant, Dean would come closer. He kept touching Sam’s hair, fidget with Sam’s shirt, pin him on the floor under him, pull his boxers, hide the towels when Sam was under the shower, put itching powder in his underwear, and every other stupid prank he could think of. He would always brag about his sex life, and spare Sam no detail. Sam would be at the first row every time Dean would pick a random girl and bring her back to their booth at a bar, to his car, to their hotel room, and Sam had to do his best not let his mind play tricks on him. Once he had to hide in the next room and get the full soundtrack. Probably the longest hours of his life. And then that last nasty fight with their father on top of it. That was it. Sam had left and tried to get a (normal) life. ‘Total fiasco’ didn’t cover half of it. Dean had come back seeking him and Sam suddenly could not remember why he had left him, or how he had found the strength to do it. He must have been out of his mind to think that he could cut the bond, and he could hear John Malkovitch’s voice in his mind delivering Valmont’s last words during the Classical Movie Marathon at the dorm: after leaving his only real love, his life had worth nothing. 

Now they were back together on the road, and it was both thrilling and excruciating. The Dean Show 24/7 and Sam’s permanent sweet torture.  
God! Sam hated this hunting way of life imposed on him like another part of his personal curse. At least he was a good hunter, but how he loathed all that crap. He only managed to endure it because it meant being with Dean again. Now that they went through so much together, they were closer than ever. There seemed to be an additional layer to the usual concern for his little brother in Dean’s eyes. A big clue was the change in the atmosphere in the car since his resurrection. Sam felt Dean’s gaze on him all the time. He could swear Dean almost had moved to touch Sam’s thigh and caught himself with a shake a few times. Dean would tease endlessly Sam about his romantic life and sexual experiences, or lack of, and somehow sex had become the main topic while the miles passed by, punctuated by many embarrassed throats clearing. They had to drive with the windows down because it got so damned hot in the car.

Suddenly, things had escalated quickly and had Sam’s hopes going through the roof. After a weird and uneasy silent lunch at a diner, Sam had come back from an errand to find out that Dean had used his laptop for his porn, again. Taking a shower in the middle of the day? Sam’s laptop still on Dean’s bed? Crystal clear. With a sigh, Sam had grabbed it to do a quick clean up, with all the pop-ups, ads and so on that Dean always left opened, it was impossible to work. He had stopped counting how many viruses they got each month thanks to Dean’s extracurricular activities. The guy still hadn’t learnt how to properly erase his search history. Eye-roll. There, you could follow his whole afternoon online path like guided by breadcrumbs. The usual Busty Asian Beauties for starters, no surprise there. But then, Sam’s eyes crossed when he read the following search. Asian Men? That was new. Well, a few times in bars Sam had wondered, catching a glimpse of what might have been Dean flirting with dudes, but Dean was such a charmer, nobody was safe. But gay porn? From there Dean had opened a few websites like Sexy Japanese Guys, Naughty Ninja Men’s Underwear (sic) and so on. New ads and links had apparently led him to the website of Fast and Furious Men’s Fitness where he had stopped on the profile page of the owner. There were a lot of pictures of this Jarod Pady exercising, flaunting his perfect body on the training machines, welcoming the photographer in the sauna, only a towel around his slim hips, and so on. Sam checked the downloads file, and guess what, the pictures were there. Surely it didn’t mean anything. It might even be a new hunt and Dean doing research, for once. It could be a Supernatural being…It was just that… The guy was tall, and muscular, the way you would expect a fitness owner to be. He also had hazel-green eyes, a strong jaw and a pointy nose. He even had long chestnut hair, usually combed backwards and moist, but still. He looked like he could play Sam’s older double.  
Sam’s rational tendencies were hinting towards a prank Dean was ready to pull on him, or another rational explanation, like a new con involving twins. But his heart was racing, and his stomach twisting as a little voice in his head had started to tell another tale. The following days he saw Dean carefully avoiding him and keeping himself extra busy with the guns when Sam came back from the shower wearing only a towel, or when he did his morning routine. 

Sam had learnt the harsh way that alcohol was not his ally. He was so angry and desperate at the Pierpont Inn. One hasty drunken move later, he was brushed off by a shocked Dean, the moment was gone, and the only action Sam got, as Dean would put it, came from the owner of the hotel. The evening events were kind of blurry, but the pain from the rejection was clear. Dean was back to his Mocking Big Brother self the next morning, untouchable, and Sam was left with the hangover from hell. In his wildest dreams, when it would happen at last, they would not be wasted. It would be too easy to put the blame on the effects of the alcohol and pretend nothing had happened, or worse, that it was a drunk’s mistake. He wanted Dean to want Sam for himself with all his mind, heart, and body. Fully and unconditionally, as Sam wanted Dean.

***

Sam’s hands are shaking. He has to make his move quickly, before the last bit of residual courage and adrenalin from the hunt disappears. Dean will pick up the change in the atmosphere any minute now. Sam gulps. Loudly.  
“Can’t hold your eggnog, Samantha?” Dean teases.  
One quick glance at Sam and Dean is already shifting from mocking to concerned, scanning his face. Fuckin Hunter’ skills. Damn I know Baby Bro’s gears as well as Baby’s engine skills. Dean is Sam’s mechanics. He always seems to know what’s gripping. Apart from that major dysfunction in Sam’s carburetor, aka, feelings and desires that shouldn’t be, that seems to have gone under his inquisitive radar.  
“Sammy, ya’ alright?” Dean asks.  
“Yeah, Yeah, hum…” Sam tries to smile, stands up, go to the fridge. “Need anything?” he asks, going for casual. Not easy with all that dry sand in his throat, feels like the whole Sahara is in there.  
“All good here, thanks”, answers Dean, eyes back on the football game on TV. 

Sam has thought about ways to get what he has been craving for years while he was trying to decorate the ugly greenish room. Unfortunately, the perfect probability of success 100% Master Plan (SMP100) is still escaping him. He has nothing. He thought of hanging some mistletoe and asks for a kiss under it, but after this hunt, folk customs and holiday greenery are out of the picture for good. He thought about putting down his feelings in a letter, but he doesn’t want to be ridiculed to death and beyond for being a damn chick. He thought about lying in Dean’s bed with only a red ribbon on his body, but it is just not him. It’s more like Dean, actually. God he would love to see that. Now he’s getting hard. Great job. Cortex blood deprivation is not his friend right now. Just think, moron!  
Nothing. Sam sighs. He’s clueless. Dean is spread on the green sofa Sam left moments ago and is watching a stupid action flick rerun. Sam takes the little chair near the window. He opens it a bit, because woah, the chemical mix of all the tree car fresheners together is making him dizzy. He closes it again and fidgets some more. He can’t help but staring at Dean. That man is amazing. He can be anything. Sam would be glad to be half the man he is. The guy still cracks jokes with pliers clamping at his tooth. Brave, strong, feral, goofy, plain stupid, glutton, reliable (when not horny…better cross reliable then) seductive, lazy, dedicated, fun, annoying, mean, kind-hearted and considerate... Dean Winchester is a walking dichotomy. And that is only a glimpse at the inside. Don’t even start about the outside. How handsome can he possible be? The burgundy bruise on his cheekbone compliments the emerald green of his eyes, how fucked-up is that? A look at Dean makes women and men lust after him like they were under a love spell. Heck, even Sam lusts after him, and Dean is his brother, for God’s sake. The guy is not your type? He will be in five seconds of sweet talk in that husky voice and smooth moves. He will grow on you in ten seconds of just being Dean.  
Dean takes a sip of his beer, moist plump lips slowly parting around the bottle neck, Adam apple bulging when he swallows, and Sam dies inside. 

Sam’s nerves are tense, exacerbated pressure building up. Time’s a wastin’. Tick, tick, tick, the ugly little clock in the cheap motel room sounds like Doomsday Clock to Sam. It’s ticking closer to midnight. On the last stroke of Midnight, Sam will know at last if he will live or die. In case of a miracle and Sam lives, the clock will reset itself for the next major impending Doom, the one Sam can’t even allow himself to formulate mentally.  
Carpe Diem. Carpe Diem. Carpe Diem. It echoes in Sam’s mind like a mantra. Sam is peaceful now, resolved. He feels the now familiar sensation of steel willpower running through his veins rise again. He knows what to do. There will be no failure tonight. He will just throw himself in Dean’s control and let him take care of him as he has always done. He just has to make sure that he gives him no chance to dodge and run away and then it’s power play: game on. 

Sam slides down from his seat, pushes the coffee table away against the TV and crawls towards Dean’s legs. The room is small, he is big: ‘doesn’t take long. When Dean’s eyes leave the screen, Sam is already crouching between Dean’s legs, a hand curled around each calf.  
Dean startles, worried confusion on his face. Of course, he will first attack with sarcasm, his main defense mechanism.  
“Dude, personal space invasion much?” but his tone is hesitant. Sam heard the fear. It sends a thrill to his spine. Vulnerable Dean surfacing. It makes Sam want to roar like a tiger, it makes him stronger. Sam slowly moves upward and takes the beer bottle away from Dean’s hand to put it on the table. Dean let him, looking completely at bay. Perfect. One blink left before punching mode. But there is no stopping Sam now. He slowly takes Dean’s amulet in his hand.  
“Do you remember that Christmas, Dee?” Sam asks softly, not sure if Dean heard him with the loud movie still playing on.  
“Yeah, course I remember”, Dean answers in a thin voice. Their eyes meet for a moment. Dean drops his gaze first. Sam’s braces his arms on top of Dean’s shoulders and hides his burning face in Dean’s neck, above the olive-green shirt. He inhales deeply. It’s warm, soft, and it smells like home. Dean freezes. Sam lets his lips brush the soft skin between the short strands of hair and Dean’s ear and murmurs, because his voice disappeared somewhere.  
“I already loved you so much. Every day after that Christmas I loved you more and more. When I left you, a part of me died. I will never let you go. I need you so much. I want you so much it’s killin' me.” Sam’s breath catches in his throat and he can’t stop a tear from running down his cheek. 

Dean is not pushing Sam off and away from him. He is not running away. Hope crashes on Sam. He can feel Dean’s heart drumming, racing with his own frantic heartbeats. He looks deep in the shimmering bright green lakes. He wishes he could just drown himself in them. Dean grabs him by the chin. He gently wipes Sam’s cheek with his left thumb.  
“That’s a dirty trick, Baby Brother”, he sighs, rubbing his mouth and chin, pondering. And then his arms lock behind Sam’s shoulders. The weight and warmth trigger a chemical reaction deep in Sam. Despair is gone. There is only love, need and lust.  
“There are dirtier tricks in my book. Do you want me to show you dirty? Is it what you want, Big Brother?” Sam whispers against Dean’s ear, and he can’t resist the pull any longer. He goes for the kill. He cards his fingers in Dean’s short hair, at the nape, where his hand fits like it belongs there, and brings Dean’s face closer to him almost brutally. Dean’s moan is lost in their mouths, Sam’s tongue invading, poking, making up for years of restrain, starvation and longing, unleashed need suddenly bursting. Sam growls, it tastes amazing. He devours Dean with all his anguished passion. But he can’t feel enough of Dean. He straddles him, the two of them squeezed in the seat, and goes for the green shirt’s buttons.

Dean is struggling for air under the violent attack. He manages to escape Sam’s mouth.  
“Woah, easy, Tiger. Sammy, just calm down.” Dean hushes him, a hand petting Sam’s hair, a hand caressing his back. He tries to catch his breath. “Are you sure about … this? I have no strength left to fight anymore. Hell I tried. I lost that fight too. I want you too, Baby.” But his voice cracks and he avoids Sam’s eyes. “I can’t, Sam. I can’t damn you with me.” Dean’s misery is too much for Sam.  
“Don’t you know I am damned too? Being with you without touching you is worse than Hell. I need you so much, Dee.” Sam tries not to sob. He fails. “Dean, please...”  
After a heroic internal fight of two long seconds, Dean surrenders. What else can he do? Sam’s wish is Dean’s command. He goes for Sam’s earlobe and throat with these goddamn full lips, he nibs and sucks, and when Sam thinks that his end is near, Dean softly scratches his jaw with his cheek, delicious stubble leaving burning trails on Sam’s skin. Dean gently nibbles at Sam’s chin and Sam whines. That was a close call. Suddenly Sam is grateful for the tightness of his jeans that just saved him from coming on the spot. Dean is kissing him back. There is a hard bulge under Sam’s ass. This must be a Christmas Miracle. Or rather an Ancient Roman, twisted, obscene Saturnalia ritual miracle. He could cry in relief and bliss. There is a hurricane of memories in his mind, a chick-flick-worthy montage of Dean. Carving their initials together in secret in the Impala, Dean working shirtless and sweaty under the hood one Summer, his strong hands working on Sam’s wound after a hunt, his cold feet and warm back under the shared old blanket of a drafty motel, after-shave and leather, alcohol breath and gun oil. 

Dean tries to catch his breath, his forehead against Sam’s. “Fuck, Sam, I hoped that it was only me.” Dean’s voice has a rasp that drives Sam crazy. “What are we doing, Sammy?”  
“I know you never were the sharpest pencil in the box, but I thought this was one of the few languages you mastered.” Sam answers between two kisses on Dean’s lips.  
Sam huffs in Dean’s ear. His cheeks are so red, he must look like a fool, but never mind, it’s confessions’ time. “I don’t give a shit what’s wrong or right. It feels too good. Sometimes I dream that I fuck you so deep that I disappear in you, sucked into a blissful oblivion. Other times you fuck me so hard that we merge into one.”  
“Shit, Sam!” Dean is inhaling slowly through his nose. His face is now twisted, eyes shut tight. Sam takes it that he has a new weapon to wager in this dangerous mission he is now engaged in. He has Dean cornered with dirty talk. 

There is a naughty smile dancing on Dean’s lips, and precious little lines at the corner of his eyes.  
“Man, I’m gonna split my jeans in half. Wanna see a sharp pencil? I’ll show you sharp. Com’ here.” Dean takes Sam’s arms and locks them around his shoulders. He grabs Sam’s butt in his hands, fingers popping the buttons, reaching down in the denim’s back pockets, and pushes forward on his feet, standing up with Sam in his arms in an impressive display of core strength. Sam can only gasp and Dean grins.  
“Ever seen my glorious body?” Dean basks, smug grin gleaming. “It’s not only looks. Wanna see what I can do? I will go to Hell anyway… Might as well make it count.” Dean’s voice is full of promises. In two strides he reaches the bed, and they land in a crash. Dean goes down on Sam, grinds his hips against Sam’s tenting jeans. They moan in synch. It sounds so much better than when they sang that awful Christmas carol together.  
The last button finally gives in and Sam yanks Dean’s shirt away.  
Sam sits up and grabs Dean’s long sleeved under-shirt. Dean lifts his arms and takes it off, his biceps flexing. Sam takes in the soft skin on the strong muscles, the beautiful collarbones, the amulet swinging, grazing hard nipples. Dean is watching him lovingly from under his lashes, emerald green gone dark, it’s the most beautiful thing Sam has ever seen. Sam latches on the right nipple, and Dean brings him closer to his chest, hands in the long messy hair, resting his face against Sam’s forehead.  
“I dream of you too”, Dean says, voice low and hot, tracing Sam’s face with his tongue, licking the beauty spot near his lips, on his chin. “The things I do to you in my dreams, Sammy… Three nights ago I was blowing you in my car, and you came all over my face. I woke up so hard I had to jerk off while you were under the shower over there.”  
“Fuck, Dean!” Sam pants. He rolls Dean under him. “I know… I might have watched you a little…” he confesses.  
“Samuel William Winchester! You naughty fucker! And I am the one going to Hell?!” Dean exclaims, laughing and wiggling under Sam’s long body.  
“I’ll save you, Dee.” Sam promises. He almost crushes Dean against his chest and grinds hard against him, kissing him with all he has. He invades Dean’s mouth and feels his tongue stroked and sucked. It sends so much heat to his cock that he will combust in a few seconds. Sam growls. In one fast move he pins Dean on the bed with one hand. Sam gets rid of his belt and opens his jeans with the other.  
“Show me what you did in your dream… show me now!” he commands, crawling up on Dean, reaching for his cock and offering it to Dean. Dean looks at Sam’s hard cock like he just discovered a free all-you-can-eat steak and pie buffet. It makes Sam’s tip leak a few pearls and Dean licks his lips at the sight. Sam grips himself at the base, he is seconds away of just stuffing that beautiful mouth as deep as he can go. But Dean is a wicked tease, and there’s no way he will just let Sam take the lead so easily. He has plans of his own, too. They apparently involve freeing his hand and sliding Sam’s opened jeans and boxers lower, groping Sam’s ass in a firm grip, yanking him to his face where he can nuzzle and breathe in the hard shaft like a treat. Since it leaves glistening trails on Dean’s gorgeous lips and cheek, making him even more impossibly hot looking, Sam counts it as a good move and tries to calm himself down.  
“That must have been quite a heck of a growing spell that you cast on yourself, Big Guy!” Dean jokes, “not that I am complaining…”  
“Nothing supernatural here, Dean. This is what you do to me.” Sam tries not to blush under his brother’s gaze. He is not a teenager anymore, for God’s sake.

Sam gets rid of his socks and rolled clothes then opens Dean’s jeans. Dean doesn’t let him. He takes a moment to get up and strip, making a show of it. He bends down beautifully to get rids of his socks, sensually removing his jeans like he could get one year of Baby’s expands worth that way on a stage in one round. Sam lies on his back, one arm crossed behind his head, slowly stroking his cock, his eyes on Dean.  
“Show-off!”, he grumbles, but he can’t stop looking. Tonight, Dean is performing his usual seduction act, all for Sam. Sam knows how he looks right now. He has seen the face of hundreds of waitresses, barmaids, and women of all ages mesmerized, lost for good. He tries to at least remember how to close his mouth again. That bastard is already too aware of his sex-appeal. Dean points an invisible gun at Sam, shoots and blows the barrel. Such a corny move should not be that much effective, but it is. It’s like Dean’s superpower.  
“Another one bites the dust! I’m lethally adorable.” Dean gloats. He comes crawling up between Sam’s legs, hips up and muscular ass slowly wiggling, licking his lips and looking as close as a horny big cat that Sam could ever imagine. 

In a swift motion Dean lifts Sam’s hips up on his thighs, before taking the hard cock in his hand, slowly pumping and squeezing. Dean slowly licks at the crown and swirls around the top, before taking it all in his mouth. How many times Sam has dreamt of this? Dean looks up at Sam from under his long lashes, and moans around his cock. His eyes are sparkling under the twinkly lights and a light veil of sweat covers his face. He looks hot as hell. It feels so good, Sam has to grab the sheets to keep himself from falling, the whole world is spinning around him.  
“Come up here on top of me, I want to reciprocate.” Sam manages moments later in between two panted breaths.  
“You mean a 69? Is it how you guys called it at the dorm?” Dean teases but he positions himself on top while Sam tries to slide further down the bed to make room for him. It is better than Sam best wet dreams. Stroking the soft light hairs on the muscular thighs, he burrows his face in Dean’s crotch and inhales slowly the musky scent. Every time he sucks on Dean’s cock, he feels himself engulfed in Dean’s hot mouth. He licks from the shaft to the soft skin under it, following the lovely dark line to the balls, and dips further between Dean’s cheeks. Sam lower back is burning with the need to fuck, his hips start bucking up. He teases Dean’s hole, and licks and pokes at it with his tongue, adding more pressure, until he can slide a finger inside. So tight and hot around his finger. Dean’s moans have long turned into needy whines, and as they pleasure each other in synch, Sam’s need reaches a new peak.  
“Fuck, yeah… too… good! Shit!” Sam is focusing hard not to let himself come just now. Merdae, Merdam…He goes through the 5 Latin declensions of merda in his head before regaining enough control to take his fingers off the tight hot hole and to pull Dean away from his throbbing cock. 

“I can’t wait any longer. Look under your pillow, there is one more gift for you.” Sam says in a croaky voice.  
Dean wipes his mouth and licks his fingers clean, his face flushed, eyes glazed. He puts his hand under the pillow and finds a bottle of lube near his gun.  
“No way. Cinnamon apple! Very seasonal, man. You turned into quite the Christmas fan after all…Go look under yours now.” Dean has a wicked smile. Sam’s bed is only one step away. Sam extends his arm and reaches under the pillow.  
Candy cane flavored lube. How is this even a thing?  
“No way! Same thinking again... Did you have plans for tonight, Dean?” Sam asks, hope and love probably all plastered on his face.  
“As a matter of fact, I did. But you beat me to it. No hard feelings though. Merry Christmas, bitch.” Dean licks Sam’s throat and slowly, tenderly works his way down to Sam’s chest and nipples.  
“Same to you, jerk. Now come here so I can fuck your Christmas lights out.” Sam replies, holding him closer to him, arching under his tongue.  
Dean softly laughs, exasperated face on. “Dude, enough with the Christmas metaphor already…”  
Sam puts on offended airs and pinches Dean’s ass cheeks. “Really? So I guess you don’t want to hear about a red ribbon then. It involves you and this headboard.”  
Dean glances up at the head of the bed and gulps. “Damn. Do your worst, Bad Santa.” His dick twitches against Sam’s hip indent and Sam lifts his hips to press against it.  
“Hop on my knees, Deana.” Sam replies on the same tone.  
They roll on top of each other and fight to stay on top. Sparing without clothes and hard as stone is unquestionably the best sport they ever played together. The cheap little bed might not survive, though. 

“Wanna try rock, paper, scissors? I think we both know what the outcome will be…You might as well let me fuck you right now, Dean.” Sam says through labored breaths. Keeping up the banter is getting harder and harder. Now his mind is so full of pictures of Dean tied to the headboard with his strong back bent and his lovely ass offered to Sam that he can’t think straight. Sam quickly rolls a condom on his aching cock, pulls Dean up and help him bend. Dean gladly surrenders, he grabs the headboard and arches his back toward Sam.  
“I need you right now, Sammy… show me how deep you love me.” Dean huffs, and he cards his hand behind Sam’s head, in his hair, on his nape, keeping him close, piercing glance all hot and needy. Sam’s heart is going to burst. His head is spinning with need. He bends his knees and gives himself a few strokes with lube on his hand before pushing some in Dean’s hole. The room smells now like spicy sex and apple pie, and he can’t wait any longer. In one long slow push he encases himself in Dean’s heat. They both hold their breath and stay still for a while. Sam sees white sparkles under his tight shut lids. He adjusts himself a bit and Dean grinds and moans. Dean grabs Sam’s left hand and closes it on his hip, he entwines his fingers with Sam’s and slowly starts to give him momentum. Sam thrusts his hips, muscles clenching, following his brother’s lead naturally. Dean is setting a slow, sensual, steady pace, his cropped hair brushing against Sam’s cheek and chin, his breath hot against Sam’s throat. Sam strokes Dean’s chest and nipples, and gradually his self-control vanishes.  
“Ngh, Dean….can’t …hold it! So tight, so good!” Sam grunts.  
“Com’ on, gimme more! Fuck me harder…” Dean pleads, and pushes against Sam, angling himself to get hit on his sweet spot, tempting Sam with deep moans and cries, leading him further in their shared bliss, until Sam gives him all he can. His abs are burning, his knees are shaking, the bed is bumping against the wall with his pounding and he will probably get nasty sheets burns, but all Sam can think about is the heat between them and the perfect harmony of their moves. Dean has grabbed the headboard to steady himself, and Sam grips the slim hips, pushing and pulling fast and hard while he jack-hammers deep, panting and grunting, he is going to die, there’s no way that it can feel that good. Dean is tightening against him and they are both so close, but Sam doesn’t want it to end so soon. He wants Dean to come first, so he palms Dean’s throbbing cock and jerks him off, praising him, talking in his ear.  
“So good, Dean! I knew you would love my cock…should have given it to you years ago already…Ahh, fuck, common, come for me now!” Sam gasps out, and he ruthlessly bites Dean’s earlobe. “Ah! Sammy!” Dean cries and explodes in Sam’s fist in long glistening spurts. Sam follows, shouting Dean’s name as hot waves of deafening pleasure crash on him, leaving him trying to catch his breath in Dean’s neck. He keeps clutching Dean like a lifeline for a few more seconds, his cock still pulsing deeply, steadily. They disengage slowly and fall clumsily on the bed. Sam tries to breathe again. Dean’s hair is all spiky, his cheeks are red, eyes half-closed, and he smiles softly at Sam. The frown he is always sporting lately is finally gone.  
“God, Dean, I love you so much!” Sam exclaims, his heart hurting, on the verge of tears again. Dean answers softly, kissing him on the forehead, holding him close against his chest.  
“I know, Sammy. Ditto. Always had, always will.”

Sam has just enough energy left to go to the bathroom, take care of the condom, freshen a bit. He comes back to the bed with a towel and a glass of water for Dean. Dean is spread on the bed, arms crossed behind his head, smiling like the cat that ate the cream.  
“So, why today? Did you finally get my subtle hints?” asks Dean.  
“You bastard! You played me?” Sam is bewildered. He climbs on the bed and fuck it, he snuggles resolutely in Dean’s arms. “So the pictures of that guy….” asks Sam.  
Dean strokes his hair. “Striking, huh? Maybe I should take a fitness club subscription for us… ahhh, the new version of ‘Dean with the Twins’…” muses Dean, mischievous grin flashing.  
“That’s twisted even for you. Don’t you dare!” Sam furrows his brows and hisses. Fuck Dean and his endless teasing. But Dean is all seductive smile and tenderness again.  
“S’ Ok, Sam. Don’t worry. I gotcha now.” He snuggles on Sam’s chest, his talisman resting near Sam’s belly, cold metal on hot skin, a token of their bond.  
“Fuck dude, what took you so long?” Dean sighs, hand clutching Sam’s biceps.  
“Why did you step away from our first times together?” Sam snaps back, he has to ask, the resentment he still feels tinting his tone.  
“What kind of sick fuck makes a move on his younger brother?” Dean notices how Sam cringes and quickly makes an apologetic hand move, then blocks any verbal counterblow ready to come from that bitchface over him with his hand on Sam’s lips. “You know what I mean. It had to come from you. You were only a teenager. Now we are both grown up men, experienced, well, at least I am, and there are no rules applying to us anymore.” Dean looks like he knows this is not what he should have said either. Sam understands that it is hard for him to communicate with words when feelings and emotions are involved. He decides to let him off the hook right now, because this is such a blessed moment. Who cares how and when they reached that point? They are there at last, together, and the world can disappear, Sam doesn’t give a damn.  
In a moment Dean will get up and get dressed, pull his emotional shield up again together with his jacket. But for now, he is all love and raw emotions. Sam kisses him now, while he is still an open book, his feelings on display for Sam to revel in.  
Dean might be Sam’s mechanics, but Sam can read through Dean lines like he can decipher and translate ancient prophecies. Well, apart from the missing volume, the pivotal chapter regarding Dean’s non so plain brotherly feelings for him that Sam failed to discover. How Sam wishes he had access to these beautiful verses earlier! Sam will make up for it every second they spend together, and it starts right now.


End file.
